Class Reunions Are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Aunt Ginny balled her fist and narrowed her eyes at Kelly.

  Sawyer stepped in to buffer and prevent a very un-Zen-like incident from happening at Zen Mania. “The investigation will prove that Poppy’s innocent. The police are already focusing on other leads.”

  “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I smiled weakly and we all waited for a few irritated yoga students to walk past on their way to the exit before continuing. “Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Barbie?” I asked Kelly.

  “No, not at all. Why ever would someone want to hurt her? She was a pillar of society. Everyone loved her.”

  Sawyer and I looked at each other with skepticism, remembering a very different Barbie.

  “She selflessly gave her time to oversee several charities: the PTA, Alumni Association, PETA. Every spring she ran a fundraiser for underprivileged kids to go to cheer camp. Those kids really counted on her.”

  Kelly’s voice trembled as she went on. “I don’t know how Robert does it, but he just keeps going for the sake of the people who depend on him. He just needs to get through the memorial service tomorrow afternoon so he and Tiffany can move on, and begin to heal.”

  “Who is Tiffany?” I asked.

  “Tiffany is Robert and Barbie’s daughter. She’s a sophomore this year, and just made head cheerleader, just like her mom. She’s the youngest student to become cheerleading captain since Barbie.” Kelly sniffled and wiped invisible tears from her eyes. “Thank God for Missy. She’s put together a scholarship on behalf of the Alumni Association in Barbie’s name, and Tiffany will be the recipient this year.”

  “That was nice of her,” Sawyer said to Kelly, then looked at Aunt Ginny and shrugged.

  “It was very important to Robert and Barbie that Tiffany go to the best college to cheer competitively.”

  “Sure,” I offered, not really knowing what else to say.

  Kelly pulled a smartphone out of her lululemon yoga bag. “Okay, I have to get back to work. Robert and I have a strategy meeting to discuss the post-memorial fundraiser. People are more generous when they know you’re grieving. You two should probably not come since you’re suspects in the murder case. But here are some invitations to give to your friends. It’s only a hundred dollars a plate, but they’ll have to pay at the door since the event is last-minute. I could have done a lot more if I’d had time to plan in advance.”

  She handed me a stack of engraved invitations that read “You are Cordially Invited to a Fundraiser to support Congressman Robert Clark in Memory of his late wife, the beloved Barbara Clark.” When I looked up, she was on her cell phone and exiting the studio without a backward glance or wave good-bye.

  “How exactly was she going to plan a memorial fundraiser in advance?” Aunt Ginny asked.

  I looked at the invitations in my hand. “Or did she?”

  Chapter 25

  I hit the snooze button for the third and final time. If I couldn’t find a way to prove my innocence, my days of lounging in bed and getting up whenever would be over very soon. I’d be doing a long stint in a women’s prison. A few months ago that thought would have had me paralyzed with fear. But I was done letting circumstances drag me through life. The events of the past week had taught me that life is what you make it. Problems are going to come whether you live life to the fullest or numbly hide from the world. I was choosing to live. And part of my new life included taking better care of myself.

  So I made my bed and washed my face with the thirty-year-old Noxzema. Note to self: Buy skin care products today. Then I put on my yoga outfit from last night. Note two: Buy decent workout clothes. I got out my yoga posture sheet that Dr. Melinda had given me and attempted the positions. Chair pose, forward bend, downward dog, plank—nose to nose with Figaro.

  “Can I help you?”

  Mrow.

  Cobra pose, breathe. “I’m sorry, sir, but breakfast will be served when I am finished here.”

  Mroooow.

  Child’s pose, breathe. Gentle nudge on the head.

  “Not yet.”

  Mrow.

  Roll over, corpse pose, breathe. I went over Skye’s words from last night. “Breathe in relaxation, breathe out tension. Let it go. Let yourself sink into the earth without a care. Breathe in renewed energy, breathe out stress.”

  Hhhhuh, hhhhuh, hhhhuh.

  “Figaro! Do not hock up a fur ball when Mommy is in relaxation pose!”

  Hhhhuh, hhhhuh.

  The spell was broken.

  I got off the floor and glared at the cat, who suddenly felt fine, then went to take a shower. Note three: Buy decent hair products. In fact, I would get my hair done today. I had a date with Tim tomorrow, unless I chickened out and drove to Peru. Was Peru an extradition country? No, too risky. Better get my hair done just in case.

  I dressed in another pair of yoga pants. Note four: Buy some new clothes. I’d been waiting twenty years to lose weight to get a decent wardrobe and it hadn’t happened yet. Time to bite the bullet and accept myself the way I was right then.

  My cell phone rang the flying monkeys tune from The Wizard of Oz and the Wicked Witch’s picture popped up. Great. Georgina must have sensed there was money about to be spent.

  “Hello.”

  I was greeted with brusque commands. “When are you coming home? I thought this ridiculous reunion was only for the weekend. You know I signed you up to fill the swag bags.”

  “Georgina, something has come up.”

  “What is more important than the Waterford Historical Society luncheon and keeping your word to me?”

  “Georgina, there was an incident at the reunion. A woman was murdered.”

  “If she’s dead, then there’s nothing you can do to help her now. I want you to leave at once. This is important to me.”

  “Georgina, I am not able to leave town while the police are investigating the crime.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy, of course you can leave town. Only a suspect would be detained.... Oh my God, you’re a suspect! What did you do now? Poppy, so help me God, if you bring any more shame on this family I will see to it that you are removed from John’s trust fund.”

  I rolled my eyes. This was the very reason I had avoided Georgina in the first place. Everything was about money and control with her. How she ever convinced John to put his life insurance in trust I’d never know.

  “I didn’t do anything. It’s an open investigation and I can’t leave New Jersey until they close it. You will have to get someone else to fill the gift bags. Why don’t you ask Esmerelda?” Poor Esmerelda. Wait till she finds out I just threw her under the bus. Georgina’s maid already deserves combat pay just for working in that house day after day.

  “That silly girl will just do it wrong. Now I’ll have to do it all myself. Oh, why does everything happen to me? You’d better make sure you are home before the Knickerbocker charity event next Friday. I’m counting on you to fill a seat so my table is full. After all I’ve done for you it’s the very least you can do for me.”

  “Sure, Georgina.”

  “Now, how is the diet going? Has it produced any results yet? I’ve heard there is a new diet shake that is getting positive results as long as you don’t eat any solid food between eleven a.m. and midnight. You should look into it.”

  “I have to go, Georgina. My battery is about to die.”

  “How many times have I told you to plug—”

  I ended the call before she could finish the sentence. Figaro’s ears were flattened to his head and he was flicking his tail.

  “Relax, she’s two hundred miles away. Come on, buddy. Let’s go to the kitchen and get you some nasty cat goo.”

  Aunt Ginny was decked out in an eye-blinding, hot-pink track suit with matching pink jacket and pink Reeboks. She was wearing a pair of white plastic, round earrings, a matching white plastic bracelet, and a pair of white-rimmed sunglasses.

  “Hello. Are you going out for a walk?” I opened a can of c
hicken livers and dumped it into Figaro’s bowl.

  “No.” She got a cantaloupe from the counter and started slicing it into wedges.

  “Why are you wearing sunglasses?” I got out the eggs and a glass mixing bowl.

  “Because they match my outfit.” Aunt Ginny looked at me like this should have been obvious.

  “Oh. Okay.” I broke the eggs in the bowl and whisked them until frothy. Then poured them into the ceramic frying pan I had heating on the stove. “I’m going to go get my hair done today.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Aunt Ginny said, with more enthusiasm than I thought necessary. She walked over to the trash can and hurled the cantaloupe peels with such force she knocked the lid off. Then she seized a couple plates and flung the cabinet shut, grabbed a couple forks, and marched over to the table and slammed them down.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Apparently, it’s against the law now to wear roller skates.”

  I flipped through the Rolodex of my mind to find a possible scenario to match with Aunt Ginny’s words and came up empty. “Says the 1970s police?”

  “Says that busybody socialist lady.”

  “The Social Services lady?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Did she catch you wearing roller skates in the house?”

  Aunt Ginny paused and looked at me like I was crazy. “No. What are you, some kind of nut? I was on the boardwalk. Why would anyone wear roller skates in the house?”

  “Why would anyone wear roller skates on the boardwalk?”

  “Because they don’t have a skateboard.”

  “Oh, well, of course, if you don’t have a skateboard then roller skates make perfect sense.”

  “She wrote me a ticket.”

  “Like a parking ticket?”

  “Like a ‘you’re an old lady and could break a hip’ ticket. It arrived this morning in the mail.”

  Aunt Ginny pulled a crumpled-up ball of paper from her pocket and chucked it at me.

  I smoothed it out and saw it was another letter from Social Services, pleading with Aunt Ginny to submit to a psychiatric evaluation before she hurt herself. She had been spotted on the boardwalk deemed to be involved in “reckless endangerment to self and others.”

  “That also says my house isn’t fit to be lived in and should be condemned.”

  “Well, that’s a gross overstatement. We need a couple repairs and a good sprucing, but it’s not ready for the wrecking ball.”

  “Why is this lady coming after me? We aren’t the only house on this street that needs a coat of paint.”

  She was right. Was there something else behind this assault on Aunt Ginny? I plated the scrambled eggs and we sat down to eat. “That’s a good question. And we’ll get to the bottom of it. Don’t worry.”

  I reminded Aunt Ginny that the landscapers were coming back today to plant some fall annuals and clean up the flowerbeds, and that I’d left a check on the desk for them. Then we discussed our encounter with Kelly last night over breakfast and agreed on one thing.

  ” I should attend the memorial service to see if I can overhear any chatter about the investigation.” I texted Sawyer, Connie, and Kim to let them know my plan, and they texted back that they would join me. Given the circumstances, we thought it was better to not draw attention to ourselves, so we decided to go incognito and keep to the back.

  Aunt Ginny was so excited that I was “beautifying” as she said, that she insisted I leave right away and she would clean up from breakfast. “You got to get there early so they have enough time to do what they gotta do.”

  “Good Lord, Aunt Ginny! How much do you think they have to do to me?”

  She looked at my hair and looked away. “Just go now.”

  I took my litany of supplements, got my keys and purse, and headed out the door. A vase of lavender roses had been set on the porch. I looked around to see if the person who left them was still here. There were a couple of neighbors who were standing at the mailbox across the street, pointing at Aunt Ginny’s house. When they saw me, they quickly turned away to investigate an oak tree in the yard. Hmm. Nothing suspicious about that at all. I picked up the vase and read the attached card.

  I remembered the purple ones are your favorite. I can’t wait to see you. Love, Tim

  I put them on the side table in the foyer for safekeeping until I returned, and smiled all the way to the salon.

  * * *

  The historic white clapboard Chambers Mansion now houses the Radiance Day Spa. Late-season roses were still in bloom and lined the brick path to the front door. The plush lobby was decorated in pale pink to match the roses outside. Pan flute music was playing softly overhead. I signed in and sat on an overstuffed white love seat to wait for an opening. Luckily, they took walk-ins, and this being the middle of the week I didn’t have to wait too long. A young woman with short black hair that had bright blue tips walked over and introduced herself as my stylist, Courtney. She had a nose ring and both arms were covered in colored tattoos up to the shoulder where they met a black satin bustier.

  “Are you Poppy McAllister?”

  “Yep, that’s me.”

  She sat next to me on the edge of the love seat and gushed, “Are you the same Poppy who was arrested for murder the other night?”

  I sighed. “Yep, that’s me.”

  “Ooh, that’s all everyone’s talking about. Come on, let’s get you back to the consultation area and you can fill me in on your side of the story.”

  Oh, goody.

  After a quick discussion about the condition of my hair, and the possibility of entering the Guinness World Records for greatest number of split ends, a picture was taken for the spa’s “Before” wall.

  “People would never believe us if we told them how you walked in here so we need the picture for proof.”

  Well, gee, that’s not offensive at all.

  Then Courtney had me draped in smocks, basted my hair in bright pink goo, and wrapped it in tin foil.

  “You know, she was in here the day she died.”

  “Barbie was here?”

  “Oh, yeah. Came in to have the works done before the big reunion. I did her roots. She’d made the appointment months in advance.”

  “Did she say anything about an invitation she’d sent, or a special meeting with some girls she used to know?” And bullied to within an inch of their sanity.

  “She didn’t say anything to me about an invitation, but she was very determined to look her best for someone she hadn’t seen in a long time. An old rival maybe?”

  “Did you catch a name?”

  “She never used a name, but she said she was planning to make them suffer.”

  “Suffer how?”

  “I don’t know, but she was scary intense. She said that success and beauty were the best forms of revenge. So I asked her, ‘Aren’t these people your friends?’ And I swear her skin turned ice cold and she said, ‘My only friend died a long time ago. Now I just have a bunch of people who want to use me.’”

  “Wow, that’s . . . creepy. Did you ask her about what she was planning?”

  “I got the heebie-jeebies after that and gave her a magazine. She didn’t say anything else about the reunion, but I only did her hair. You should ask Charlemagne. She did her body wrap.”

  Courtney sat me under the dryer and let me stew in my thoughts about Barbie. I wondered who she was planning to make suffer. If she hadn’t seen the person in a long time, it couldn’t be Joel or Kristin, could it? The smart money was on Billy. If she was planning to make him jealous over her “success and beauty,” I bet it threw a wrench into her plan when he showed up as the owner of a Fortune 500 company with a beautiful fiancée. So much for rubbing his face in it. I needed to talk to Charlemagne and see if Barbie said anything to her about what she was planning.

  “Let’s see how you’re doing under there.” Courtney lifted the hair dryer and opened a foil packet. “You’re good. Let’s go rinse you out and cut off th
ose split ends now.”

  Two hours later I was a new woman. My hair had been cut, colored, and deep conditioned. I had golden highlights that brightened my face, and my hair was bouncy and smooth.

  “It looks fantastic, Courtney.”

  “I’ve been known to work wonders. Miracles will run you a little more,” she said, winking.

  “I don’t suppose Charlemagne is here today, is she?”

  “Yeah, she’s here. You interested in a facial or a body wrap?”

  What I wanted was a chance to ask her about Barbie.

  Courtney leaned in to examine me. “I recommend a facial. Your pores are crying out for help.”

  I squirmed in my seat. “I don’t know that I have time for that.”

  “Come on, your skin really needs it. What is your beauty regime like?”

  “Um, does washing my face with soap count?”

  “Oh, honey, this is an emergency.”

  I was taken to a locker room and given a thick terry cloth robe that seriously needed to rethink its “one-size-fits-all” policy. Then I stored my belongings in a locker and went to the quiet room to wait.

  I was perusing a much-pawed-through issue of a gossip magazine when a gal who was surely an Olympic dead-lifter in her free time, dressed head to toe in white, busted through the door. “Where’s the emergency facial?”

  I was a little afraid and without words, so I meekly raised a finger. Charlemagne seized me by the wrist and led me to a treatment room to get situated, while she went to “heat up the rocks.”

  “What are the rocks for? And how hot are they going to be?” I called after her billboard-sized back, but she was already gone.

  When Charlemagne returned, she tied a terry cloth belt around my head and shined a confession spotlight in my face.

  “Let’s get a look at those pores.”

  She covered my eyes with two wet cotton balls so I wouldn’t suffer further retina damage. “So, you’re the one who they say killed the politician’s wife.”

  “I have been unjustly accused of that, yes.”

  She poked at my face with a metal stick for a few minutes, then finally turned the light off, removed the cotton balls, and massaged some rose-scented cleanser onto my face.